


broken crayons still colour

by niemi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Painter Remus Lupin, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niemi/pseuds/niemi
Summary: Remus had only wanted to paint Sirius.Perhaps, it was a frail excuse to stare at perfection for a few hours. But things with Sirius were never that simple. And sure enough, Remus' world was about to explode in colour.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	broken crayons still colour

**Author's Note:**

> edited.

He’d always fancied himself a painter. It was something about the delicate swishes and strokes, which intricately overlapped to form a masterpiece, that made his heart flutter. And so, his grubby, tiny hands clutched the first set of crayons he’d received on Christmas Day 1963 and had never let go.

Paint and ink seemed to be eternally splattered across his skin, tracing unintentional artworks up his arms. That was how it had always been.

Because Remus Lupin was either a painter or a reader. He was rarely found without doing one or the another, as his friends liked to tease him. If he’d been a muggle, and despite the clear academic ability he held, he would have dropped out of school by this age in sought of the hopelessly optimistic dreams of an artist. If it weren’t for Hogwarts, he’d be without a home and without his muse.

Although, that being said, his muse was a hazy subject. Sometimes, it manifested in the sharp shadows of an abnormal Hogwarts corridor, or perhaps the innocent grin of a first-year student as the sunlight from the grand Great Hall windows struck their soft jawline. More often than not, his artistic eyes settled upon a particular someone it shouldn’t. Or rather, upon that somebody’s beauty, which ought to be captured in a frozen frame of time. But Remus spent far too long staring at them for reasons besides their inherent perfection.

That somebody was far more complicated than Remus could imagine, far too broken to glue back together again.

They were the last on his list, and sat before him, dangling off the wooden stool that he’d dragged over from across the room. All long legs, unconvincingly awful posture (a result of their teenage rebellion) and that goddamn smirk.

“So, I’m the last?” Sirius said, hands folded behind his neck as he leant into the open air. “You’ve painted Prongs, Evans, Wormtail and even bloody McKinnon. _Why_ am I the last?”

There was no weight to his words, only a teasing smile to accompany them. Remus returned it with the slight lift of his eyebrows and shook his head.

“No reason,” He answered, prepping his palette the last of his colours. “It was a random order.”

“But there is a reason for this project, isn’t there? The muggle art course you’re doing, and we’re your subjects.” Sirius dangled precariously off the chair, reaching for Remus’ canvas.

It was pulled away from his grabbling fingers.

“Yeah, the final artwork piece I need to submit for my A level.” Remus busied himself with his paint brushes, doing nothing much at all so he could avoid the continuous gaze of Sirius’ eyes. “Mum always told me I should pursue my talent, she suggested I take the course even after I got my Hogwarts letter, before she… you know.”

It was unconventional, certainly at Hogwarts, to take an A-level alongside his studies. Dumbledore must have thought strange things of Remus Lupin, the werewolf that insisted upon taking up a muggle course. Art as well, of all the practical subjects; forget maths or science or bloody English.

Remus was an anomaly in more than one way. 

“You should do her proud and paint me as the most handsome man in the entire country.”

“I’ll try my best,” Remus glanced up from his brushes and smiled.

Sirius was wild-looking - often the canine side of him brought out a slight raggedness that took shape in his unruly hair - but it somehow enhanced his beauty. His bright eyes rarely seemed to dim, except for precise moments when his walls truly collapsed, and they always shone toward Remus. There was no doubt, in fact, that Sirius had a beautiful soul to match, as ever demonstrated through his actions. The keeper of secrets and carer of the sick.

He was, in all senses of the word, faultless.

And watching Remus with steady patience.

“What should I—where should I put my hands?” Sirius asked. He rarely appeared nervous, ever the cocky, confident prankster, but his fingers were fidgeting, rapping the edge of the stool.

“You’ve had your portrait painted before, haven’t you? Just whatever you’d usually do.”

Sirius shrugged. “Well, usually, our hands would be bound to our sides and our voices silenced to avoid distraction.” His voice shifted for a moment, towards darkness, before it returned with its ease and spring. “Besides, I’ve never had a muggle portrait painted.”

Remus swallowed and pressed the first dab of light brown paint to the corner of his canvas. It looked wrong, all alone, but the first stroke never seemed to belong amongst the overbearing arch of white.

“Just sit naturally, _act_ naturally,” He said, swinging his gaze to Sirius. “You shouldn’t be uncomfortable; we might be here a while.”

“All right, I’ll get comfortable then.”

He didn’t exaggerate. Sirius stretched his legs out before hooking them around the ankles of the stool and entirely relaxed his posture, slightly curling into himself. He smiled, a lazy lift of lips and a gentle pinch of his cheeks. He looked like himself, despite the unnatural environment of the charms classroom.

Remus got to work, outlining the obvious curves of Sirius. His jaw, his eyes, his hips. Perhaps he could’ve drawn this from memory, even the more subtle of details: his biceps and calves and wrists. He could’ve saved some of Sirius’ time, through his infatuation of his best friend. 

There was, of course, a reason Sirius was last on the list. He deserved the best. Remus had learnt from the small mistakes he made as he shaded James’ dark skin and carved out Lily’s glow. Those portraits were still some of Remus’ favourites, but he was prepared to spend twice as long on Sirius’ to get every last speck perfect.

Sirius Black was worth it, every last brush stroke.

They didn’t speak at first. Perhaps Sirius was wishing he’d brought his record player down to fill the silence. They had a couple of new albums after Christmas, curtesy of Sirius’ money and Remus’ knowledge of record stores. On repeat the albums had been playing since the begin of term, alternating and occasionally, being switched out for another older record and a taste of variety.

The silence didn’t bother Remus, who was too engrossed by his work. He worried it might be bothering Sirius, but a glance proved otherwise.

Sirius was watching Remus intently, a light smile playing on his lips and a sparkle to his eye. They were almost mirroring each other, aside from Remus’ tools and the wrinkles that were likely engraved between his eyebrows. It was quite unusual, really, for the subject to be as focused on the artist as the artist on the subject.

James had stared at the blackboard, strategizing for the upcoming Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor match, Lily had levitated a textbook near Remus’s head, and Peter, well, he’d stared rather nervously out the window. None of them offered heavy gazes quite like Sirius. Then again, Sirius had never been the same as them – not to Remus.

“Moony?”

“Hm?” Remus murmured, not lifting his eyes from the canvas.

Sirius paused and suddenly, Remus was hyperaware of the heart that was beating out of Sirius’ chest. His heart rate was fast – too fast for a situation like this. Sirius wasn’t inches from Filch’s grasp, nor was he on the receiving end of Regulus’s scorn. He was on a stool, leaning further forward than his original position.

“Has anyone ever told you how attractive you look when you’re painting?”

Now Remus’s heart was clunking against his ribs, spasming. His eyes widened before he could stop them, breaking his façade of nonchalance.

“Not recently.”

“Well then,” Sirius was staring at Remus, interlocking and releasing his fingers. They danced across his lap, acting out a coy waltz. “You look attractive when you paint.”

Remus’ face flushed an unappealing shade of red, he could feel it on his neck. “I… thank you, I guess.”

“Has anybody ever painted _you_ before?” Sirius asked another question, another distraction from the paintbrush that was wobbling in Remus’ grip. He was mostly standing now, the stool acting as a meaningless prop.

“No. No, they haven’t.”

Remus struggled to turn his attention back to his painting, it was lured back to Sirius each time he tried. Sirius and his casual smile and fitted robes.

“You should—you should really get back into position now, I was about to start—”

“Why not?” Sirius was out of his seat now and had reached Remus before he knew it, looking down at him. “Beautiful people should all be painted, and you’re beautiful, Moony.”

“No, that’s not… I… what are you…?” Remus found himself speechless, not a common occurrence for a being of pure wit and sarcasm.

But you see, Sirius’ hand was cupping his jaw, the touch hot against his already flaming cheeks. And his fingers were tracing Remus’s blemished skin and his scars and his lips.

Sirius’ palm was soft, slightly calloused from days of Quidditch, and careful. It followed the highs and lows of Remus’s face at its own pace, with no words of objection besides the non-verbal shock Remus was expressing.

“Sirius, what are you doing?” Remus asked at last, staring back at the unfaltering gaze of Sirius Black. His mind was a little too lost to comprehend this. “Sirius?”

They’d always been nothing more than friends, platonic. Occasionally, Remus would shove his feet in Sirius’ lap as he read, or maybe Sirius would sling an arm around his shoulder when they were heading for Defence against the Dark Arts. And Sirius would take care of Remus after a full moon, helping him back into his clothes after a particularly rough night, and sit at his bedside in the infirmary until he woke. 

But it had never been anything beyond the longing gazes Remus had stolen at Sirius from across the dorm, or perhaps a momentary hug that lasted a fraction too long.

“Nothing much,” Sirius said, inching closer, “Just exploring perfection.”

“Sirius, I—”

Remus was swiftly cut off by lips that pressed softly against his. Chapped lips that were delicate and supple. He gasped against Sirius’ mouth, and Sirius pressed closer, his hand wrapping around Remus’ waist. He was guided to a stand, as he kissed back – if only for the chance that he might never get to do so again. Remus pulled Sirius against him, feeling every subtle curve for himself, and parted his lips as Sirius’ tongue pushed through. Everything in Remus was alight, every nerve setting off fireworks as his brain ran haywire.

So, it was supposed to feel like _this_.

Sirius pulled back, for a moment, and pressed another gentle kiss to Remus’s open mouth. He smiled into it, his entire universe shattering under the force of a single kiss.

“I wish I’d done that sooner,” Sirius said softly, “I haven’t had the chance to get you alone.”

That was Remus’ doing, not long after he noticed the uncontrollable reaction he experienced every time Sirius walked into a room.

“You could’ve asked,” Remus replied in spite of himself, his voice a little hoarse.

“That’s not really my style,” Sirius smiled, his fingers sifting through Remus’s hair. “And I—why does my stomach feel wet?!”

They suddenly broke apart as Sirius’s gaze snapped down to his white shirt. Well, it had been white but now it was splattered in a multicoloured festival of paint. Every colour on Remus’ palette. All of which had been pressed against Sirius, whilst Remus had been noticeably distracted.

Remus laughed, his hand still on Sirius’ shoulder, and it rung through the silence, soon joined by Sirius’ own laughter. They giggled against each other as Remus put his remaining paint on the nearby table.

“Not quite what I expected the first time we kissed,” Sirius was saying through his chuckles, his touch on Remus’ waist, pulling him closer and closer. “Want to try again?”

“But my painting…” Remus threw up a weak excuse for resistance as his body fell against Sirius’ once more.

“I’m all yours, Moony,” Sirius murmured against his lips. “Any night you can paint me. Any night you can have me.”

“Deal.” It was all Remus had to offer a faint whisper before he was soaring.

Just as art had fifteen years ago, Sirius made Remus’ heart flutter. And like all things in his life, the two were intertwining.

His muse was far less hazy now.

**Author's Note:**

> Super soppy, I know, I know! I suddenly got inspired by the title and wrote this in two and a half hours. Because Wolfstar is the most bittersweet love story I can endure, and they deserve their own happy ending. So this is something short and fluffy for them, for you. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Niemi <3


End file.
